


The Salvific Bitterness of Nostalgia

by APortableBanquet (peregrinefalcon)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alien Planet, Aliens, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Amnesia, Angst, Clones, Doppelganger, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Everything Hurts, M/M, Mild Smut, Post-Episode: s03e07 Digestivo, Self-Sacrifice, Suicide, a wonderful film by Andrei Tarkovsky, and the Soderbergh version a little, based on Solaris, because of science reasons, lots of philosophising in space, mildly ooc Hannibal, the Molly/Will thing is background, this is a Hannigram fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-05-19 08:11:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5960301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peregrinefalcon/pseuds/APortableBanquet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Urged by Jack Crawford and a distressing message from Beverly, Will Graham is sent to the mysterious ocean-planet Solaris, in an attempt to assess the situation and uncover some truths.<br/>Yet in this process, Will uncovers some things other than truths ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am utter Russian film trash and couldn't resist not doing my own Hannigram version of this movie, which is actually one of my favourites.

_And death shall have no dominion.  
_ _Dead man naked they shall be one  
_ _With the man in the wind and the west moon;  
_ _When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,  
_ _They shall have stars at elbow and foot;  
_ _Though they go mad they shall be sane,  
_ _Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;  
_ _Though lovers be lost love shall not;  
_ _And death shall have no dominion._

 

_And death shall have no dominion.  
_ _Under the windings of the sea  
_ _They lying long shall not die windily;  
_ _Twisting on racks when sinews give way,  
_ _Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;  
_ _Faith in their hands shall snap in two,  
_ _And the unicorn evils run them through;  
_ _Split all ends up they shan’t crack;  
_ _And death shall have no dominion._

 

_And death shall have no dominion.  
_ _No more may gulls cry at their ears  
_ _Or waves break loud on the seashores;  
_ _Where blew a flower may a flower no more  
_ _Lift its head to the blows of the rain;  
_ _Though they be mad and dead as nails,  
_ _Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;  
_ _Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,  
_ _And death shall have no dominion._

 

_Dylan Thomas, “And death shall have no dominion”_

 

\----

 

Like flags billowing in the wind, ribbons of seaweed rippled in the lake water. They disturbed the sky’s reflection, which adhered to the lake with an oily sheen, like an afterthought. Will Graham pressed a finger through the still surface, the surface tension making the water cling slightly to his finger. It was cool, not yet warmed by the late spring sun that glowed overhead through the gauzy clouds.

 

The thin pole swirled in the air as he cast the line, his arm cutting through the silence of the morning, with a cottony _whhp_ , and line falling into the water with viscous dip. As he leaned backwards, Will’s hand reached backwards, feeling for the crisp fabric of his folding chair. He settled into the chair; the smooth fabric stretching tautly across his backside as he sunk into it. The pole rested in his palms as he waited for the fish to bite.

 

A slight breeze was in the air, gently carding through the weeping willow’s sage-green leaves, and softly rifling through loose strands of Will’s curling dark hair. He closed his eyes, listening to his lure bobbing in the water. Something inside him began to unwind, slowly, with a painful gingerness. He let it go, watch it loosen its bonds, heartstrings; let it wade into the calm of the water.

 

He would almost say that he was content.

 

\----

 

The squeal of tires on his gravel driveway pried his eyes and his mind open. He turned his head backward, careful not to disturb his line. A large black car had rolled up onto his driveway. Will could not see it clearly, but the figure exiting it wore a somber grey coat and a black trilby hat, and Will could identify him as Jack Crawford. The sight of Jack had irritation and apprehension lick at Will’s insides. He didn’t greet Jack; only watched as Jack walked to the front door of the brown house, and rang its bell. Molly came out of the door, and they exchanged a few words. She eventually gestured in Will’s direction.

 

Jack Crawford turned around, and raised a hand in greeting. Will didn’t return it. He simply looked for his glasses as the tightness inside his abdomen began to wind up again. Reel it all back in. Recede into the pained darkness of being.

 

Eventually, he heard Jack’s heavy feet crunching the grass beside him. “Hello, Will.” “Hello, Jack.” His voice was hoarser than he would have liked. He licked his lips nervously. “It’s good to see you,” he lied. He felt Jack’s head turn around, taking in his surroundings. The quivering willows, the lilting reeds, the mirror-like water. “You have a nice life here,” Jack observed. “Yes,” Will agreed, “I’m lucky here.”

 

Will heard Jack’s feet shuffle awkwardly. The grass brushing against the sole of his shoes. Treading on unsure ground. Building your house on the strange in-between of rock and sand. Maybe it will take root. He didn’t look at Jack. Rather than roots, Will felt like his connection with Jack was more similar to mycelium. You can carve most of it out, but add some darkness and the uncomfortable warm moisture of blood, or something similar, it’ll come sprouting out. Spreading spores, looking for connections. Looking for Will.

 

Will tried to relax, yet despite his loose grip on his fishing pole, his body was rigid with tension. The wind in his hair felt annoying now.

 

His chest was fuzzy with an irksome feeling. He knew that Jack never came empty-handed.

 

“Will,” he heard Jack pull his hands out of his coat pockets, the fabric brushing against his hands. He’d been expecting this. Will tried not to swallow too audibly as he waited for Jack’s inevitable request; or rather, demand. _He never came empty-handed._

 

“I have a message for you,” Jack declared. “It’s from Beverly.” It’d been years. Will wondered about Beverly, from time to time. She, along with Price and Zeller, he remembered, had left Earth to join an expedition on some newly discovered planet. “What kind of message is it?” They needed scientists from basically all disciplines and background there; you’ll never know what you’d find there, they said. Beverly had excitedly dubbed it as “the final frontier.”

 

Will’s lure did not move from its position in the water. The water was inscrutable, the reversed image imprinted upon it obscuring the content within. Let a topsy-turvy reflection of the world hide the vulnerable, hungry parts of yourself. Will wondered if the fish would bite today, at all. He was aware that he was a little more impatient than usual.

 

“It’s a video,” Jack answered, “I’ve watched it already. I hope you don’t mind.” Will heard him exhale solemnly. “It’s a little unsettling.” Will didn’t say anything, but pressed his lips together. Jack’s uneasiness felt heavy in his stomach. He didn’t like it.“I’d like you to watch it.”

 

Looks like the fish were not going to bite today. He reeled in the line, which rolled onto the spool wetly, sticking together. He removed the lure and put it in his tin. The sharp _clang_ of it against the metal felt resigned, unfruitful, and Will recalled a knife on the kitchen floor. Something is, once again, afoot. Turning to Jack, he set his eyes on Jack’s right shoulder. “Then show me.”

 

\----

 

It was pleasantly cool inside the house, with the shades half-drawn and the kitchen window open. Molly had poured him a cold glass of water, which stuck to his palm with the soothing wetness of condensation. He brought the rim to his lips, and the water slid down his throat easily, but he still felt tense and vexatious inside.

 

Jack placed the video in the reader. Molly was sitting by Will’s side, and his arm was draped behind her. She had sent Wally out with the dogs. Without the dogs, the house seemed empty, and expectant. He curled his arm tighter around Molly, bridging the distance between them and crowding the emptiness to the other corners of the room. The click of the projector was audible in the quietness of the house.

 

Beverly blinked into the screen, familiar in her white lab coat and dark silk blouse. Her hair was sharply parted on the left and fell in soft black waves over her shoulders. Will noted that she hadn’t changed much, but looked very tired. When she turned her eyes to the camera, he was surprised at how much he missed her vitality and good humour, and that glint in her eye; the Beverly looking back at him had listless eyes and a worrisome frown. He was rather glad to see an old friend, see those familiar movements and expressions, but there was an uncomfortable feeling in his gut, and he gripped the glass tighter.

 

“Hey Will,” her voice was still playful, but somewhat heavy. “How’s it going?” _As good as it can be._ “Well, I bet. I’ve thought about you a lot, Will. It’s been strange here.” Will remembered Beverly’s initial excitement about the reported strangeness, alienness of the planet when she first spoke to him about it, but here, she seemed all sorts of troubled. She looked down, and ran a fatigued hand through her hair. Then she looked into the camera, as if to say something, but didn’t. She ran a brisker hand through her hair. As if she were wary of something, Beverly looked around her room before she turned back to Will. Will was uneasy, too, and shifted in his seat. He felt her apprehension through the screen, and it crawled down his spine as if it were his own.

 

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Beverly blurted out, “I just - I - I can’t.” Her eyes were confused, if not a little desperate. Will could see her brain whirring, trying to formulate possible theories, descriptions, narrative structures, but they all became tied up and convoluted, for all her troubles.“I don’t understand it, at all,” she confessed. “I thought maybe you would.” _You always did_ was left unsaid. “It - It’s impossible.” Beverly turned her eyes to Will again. “I need you here, Will. I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.” There was an edge to her voice that Will didn’t like. It stung of puzzlement, discomfort, and conflict. He glanced at the corner of the video. It was recorded two weeks ago. “Jimmy and Brian don’t understand,” Beverly said, “But I figured you would.” She pleaded with him. “Please, Will. Come to Solaris. I need you.”

 

The video ended, and the screen blipped back to black.

 

“Why didn’t you send me the video earlier?” Will turned to Jack, his voice tingling with irritation and distress. “Jack?”

 

“It had to go through all the official channels, they had to screen it for content. Naturally, it aroused suspicion, but a long investigation has revealed nothing wrong with the space station. However, it _has_ recently stopped communicating with us,” Jack explained. Will’s heart sank at the “stopped communicating.”

 

“We’d hate to involve a civilian in the situation, but …” Will didn’t turn to look at Jack as he took a sip of his water. He wanted to help Beverly, obviously, yet he didn’t feel like stepping back into her world, _their_ world. At least not this easily. He had hoped to keep _that_ world at bay. He was done chasing clues, especially ones that led nowhere good, and he had a particularly bad feeling about this one. He wanted to help Beverly _so_ badly, but given the urgent tone of the message and the delay with which it reached him, he was not sure if there was anything he could do for her. He wasn’t going to become the Bureau’s tool to dissect whatever situation was going on in Solaris. Will wasn’t going to go and understand it, empathise with it. He was sick of the burning sensation of too many thoughts, the pain that ached deep within his gut after he’s digested too many minds. He didn’t want to feel his brain whirring deep at night, filled with the sleepless troubles of other people.

 

He was fond of Beverly, yes … she was perhaps his best friend. He remembered how she was there for him, when no one was, during the hardest part of his life. He remembered the depths she went to in order to help him prove his innocence. He remembered her warm hugs in the morgue at the beginning of a long day. He remembered her forcing him to be her friend, essentially, despite knowing what he was, that day at the shooting range. After Hobbs. He remembered her, and he missed her.

 

But he also valued what he had managed to recover here, at home. He valued the dogs, curling around his armchair before the fire, his pack; he valued the stillness of the lake, pierced only by his fishing hook, reflecting nothing but delightful solitude; he valued the familiar and blissfully uneventful job as a mechanic; he valued the way Wally’s face lit up whenever Will agreed to read him a bedtime story, although he was perhaps a little too old for them; he valued the feeling of Molly’s warmth against his back, staving off the coldness of whatever laid in the dark. In part, in the larger picture, Will couldn’t have had this without Beverly’s help. She had helped him achieve this: a certain peace of mind. And he would loath to let it go, for reasons and circumstances so … uncertain.

 

“Jack, I told you that I’m done. I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.” He heard Jack exhale with an expected disappointment. He knew that Will would turn him down, but had allowed himself to remain hopeful. Will would have almost felt sorry, if he weren’t so eager _not_ to jump back into the worst years of his life. Will did not want to think of where Jack last led him to, so many years ago, at the Academy. He pressed his lips again and tried not to look at the chest of drawers that stood against the left wall. There was a photograph at the bottom of the first drawer. He tried not to think about that photograph.

 

“Will, the space station has been requesting a psychiatrist or psychological specialist of some sort, for a while,” Jack almost pleaded, but his voice sounded more like a statement, and less like beseechment. Psychiatrist! Will nearly snorted, and it came out like an exasperated scoff. “I’m nowhere near a psychiatrist,” he took a drink of water, “Besides, you’ve got Alana at the Baltimore State Hospital, she’s a good psychiatrist.”

 

“Given the reports that _have_ been given about Solaris, and the concerns raised in the actual requests, you were best fitted for the job.” He heard Jack pop the video out of the reader. “We decided to take these requests seriously after Beverly’s message,” he declared, “She dropped your name, so you became one of the top candidates, naturally.” Will felt Jack hold the video over his shoulder. He accepted the video, and laid it on the coffee table. “Beverly needs you, Will.”

 

He made a frustrated, nearly tortured little sound. “I can’t just go into space, Jack.” Will felt bad for using Molly and Walter as an excuse, but he did. “I have a family.” After all, it was a reasonable excuse; space offered no guarantees, and he couldn’t afford to risk this calm, this domesticity that took him so long to build up. In what Will interpreted as a last-ditch attempt at encouragement and thus, manipulation, Will felt Jack’s heavy hand on his shoulder. He thought of angels and demons, perched around stubborn humanity like frustrated guardians. “At least think about it.” A few moments later, he registered Jack closing the door.

 

“Will.” He felt Molly turn to him, her hair brushing against the back of the sofa, and so he turned to her. “You’re not going to help him?” She asks. Will hoped that she didn’t think he was a horrible human being for essentially ignoring Beverly’s call. _Graham, don’t be ridiculous_ , he convinced himself. _Molly, out of anybody, would understand him._ “Helping Jack is bad for me.” Will explains. He flicks at the half-empty glass with his fingers. His nails make a pleasant ringing sound when they strike against the glass. He feels her slender arms around his shoulders, and he slumps forward a little. His fingers grip the rim of the glass, and it dangles in the air. He knows that it won’t slip out of his hand and shatter, but at the same time he imagines. He fears.

 

“How bad is it gonna be if you stay here?” “I don’t know,” Will confessed. Bev was always strong … but she wasn’t invincible. He knew nothing about the situation; and he had never seen her so nervous and almost … scared. “If you stay here and something bad happens, maybe it’d sour this place for you. _High Noon_ and all that.” He chuckled softly at her reference, and felt her hand move over his shoulder blades, rubbing soothingly. “Do you want me to go?”

 

He looked up at her, and saw her looking at him, contemplative, blue eyes studying him from underneath a honey blonde fringe. “I’d have the satisfaction that you did the right thing.”

 

Will remembered the feeling of having someone else in his head. Someone else’s footfalls echoing through those empty corridors. Someone else’s body changing the way the water ripples. Someone else’s emotions clouding his eyes. Someone else’s voices so loud in his mind that he can’t hear himself think.

 

The worst part of it all was the fear. The constant fear of being someone else, or someone else being him. The fear of not knowing who he was. For a change, Will Graham just wanted to be himself. Alone.

 

When he remembered, he tried not to think of the photograph in the top drawer. He tried not to remember that time when he recognized that he’d never be alone.

 

When someone else held his hand in the darkness of his mind.

 

“If I go …” The glass was trembling slightly. “I’ll be different when I get back.”

 

He heard something splutter in the well of his mind.

 

Molly shook his shoulder gently. “Hey,” she smiled at him “I won’t.”

 

He looked away from her and set the glass down on the table.

 

\----

 

The smoke unfurled in the air as the paper curled up in the fire. Will fed more paper into the fire, and watched the ashy letters disintegrate in the hazy wind. He watched the smoke dissipate into the clouds, up, up, and away.

 

He heard Molly approach him, and saw her brown shoes on the grass next to him. Will sensed her question. “There’s no point in keeping these papers.” He turned his head towards her. For a moment, he felt like smiling reassuringly, with perhaps a smidge of bitterness, but if felt out of place; moreover, he was not very good at smiling.

 

He tossed research notes, academic articles, and case files into the fire. He watched them all curl up, like fists rubbing the last vestiges of a dream away from waking eyes. Nightmares and possessions, floating off to be someone else’s problems. Maybe environmentalists’. He wondered why he hadn’t tried this earlier. “The important ones are in my room.” He notified Molly, “Should anything happen to me …” “I’ll take care of them,” She promised him that she would.

 

The book was heavy in his hand. It felt heavier now, as he held it indecisively over the open flame. He wanted to let go, but every time the fire danced near it he would flinch. He wondered if he should have just left it in the top drawer, but he had decided to burn everything. Now, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to burn it. It was a handsome book, bound in black leather; a name that Will didn’t want to read owned the book; and moreover, the photograph was in the book.

 

A dizzy feeling overtook him as he crouched near the fire, the book in his hand. It wasn’t a hardcover book; the book was softbound like those small portable Bibles that lined shelves in generic bookstores. It was warm and supple, and Will could imagine those hands flipping through its pages, delighting in the winglike, flapping music of the paper; he could see those hands thoughtfully thumbing the pages, dark eyes following, spellbound; he could feel those hands, resting on the soft cover, thinking about something, thinking about somewhere, thinking about someone.

 

Will felt those hands on his own skin - firm, reassuring clasps on his shoulder; grounding and possessive grasps on his forearm; flitting, almost nervous fingertips grazing along his jaw; despondent, imploring fingers slowly untwining from his. He clutched the book tighter.

 

“I’m taking this with me.” There was no other choice.

 

He turned around, and began walking home.

 

As Will opened the door, he felt the beginnings of rain bursting cold against his face.


	2. Chapter 2

“When is lift-off?”

 

“You’re already flying, Mr. Graham! Take care.”

 

Darkness closed in on him from all sides, folding into his space, coiling around his fingers, dripping down his throat.

 

\----

 

He relished the dead silence, sinking into the velvety shadows that seem to gush through the glass of his window. He felt his heart lift out of his chest and his shoulders fall back, and in that instance it was as if he were falling so quickly that it felt like flying.

 

So this was space. None of the stars glittered like they did on Earth; there was just rolling expanses of blackness and stone. Devoid of the atmosphere’s lenses, everything appeared naked, exposed. Will’s eyes were wide open. _I see you._

 

He had never seen anything so unexpectedly stark, but so refreshingly beautiful.

 

\----

 

Solaris was getting closer. It was a large planet of indistinct colour, its entire surface covered in a roiling ocean; there was something off about the texture of the seawater. Will watched it twist and agonize; it exhaled beams of gas, which bounded into Solaris’ atmosphere in narrow, translucent parabolas. The space station drifted within Solaris’ hazy atmosphere, chrome all dull from the strange lack of light in space.

 

Will noticed that his vision was … tilting. The space station was not the right way up. His spacecraft was pulling closer and closer in. As all the images swirled together, like the indeterminate Solarian ocean, Will realized that something was going wrong. “I’m losing stability …” he surmised. His fingers managed to hit the comm button. “This is Will Graham, I’m losing stability.” He vaguely felt the spacecraft penetrate Solaris’ atmosphere. “Solaris station! Do something! I’m losing stability …”

 

The oozing darkness covered his eyes, and everything went completely quiet.

 

\----

 

He tried to rub his eyes, but found his knuckles knocking against the glass of his helmet instead. Blinking confusedly, he managed to find the hatch and gracelessly crawled out of the small spacecraft. He hauled his backpack out of the small hatch, and dropped it onto the floor. An upsetting of dust curled around the edges of his luggage.

 

He undid the latch to his helmet, twisted it off his collar, and held the helmet under his arm. “Hello?” Will’s voice ricocheted off the grimy white walls and rusted orange tubes. He slung the backpack over his back, and stepped out of the long unused hangar. “Beverly? Guys?”

 

The curving, cylindrical hallways were deserted. Trash littered the corrugated steel floor, and its red control panels were grubby with dust. “Hello?” The walls answered back in Will’s own voice. His feet clanged against the floor, and that was the only register that he was even here.

 

Convex mirrors hung on the diamond tread sheet metal walls, making the tunneling corridors seem more cavernous. Will looked up and saw his own distorted reflection - dark hair all awry, grey eyes rimmed with fatigue, and slightly uncomfortable in a trim space suit with a heavy metal helmet collar, his grey pants with black restraints were tight against his skin. He looked like shit.

 

To be fair, he was, until recently, unconscious from turbulent space travel.

 

Bothered by the total silence and curious about the state of the space station, Will decided to approach one of the rooms sandwiched between two crimson control boards. He wiped the dust from the name tag: Miriam Lass. He had heard Jack talk about her, sometimes; she was meant to succeed Jack when her time came. “Miriam?” The door creaked beneath his gloves. Inside, the room was completely deserted. Paper cascaded from the desk to the floor, caught in open drawers and upon upturned bins. A slate grey quilt pooled at the edge of the bed, darkly stained. Various personal effects spilled from the slim built-in closet. Slit paper was taped to the vents.

 

Something was definitely wrong.

 

There was a gun resting in a pile of ash. A nearby journal had a few pages torn out of it; the most recent entry was titled “Leaving for Solaris.” Will inferred that the ash was all that remained of the ripped out pages. Gingerly, he lifted the gun; it was heavy. Loaded. He slid it into his one of the larger pockets on his jacket, and quietly slipped out of the room.

 

Will nearly jumped out of his spacesuit when he heard a loud thunk from a room a couple doors down the corridor. “Hello?” The door was slightly ajar. Will reached out and pushed lightly. The door swung open.

 

“Jimmy?”

 

There was a quick motion of someone stuffing something into a hammock, and then Jimmy Price turned around. “Will? Hey!” The ashy-haired man sounded as cheerful as ever, but Will detected a timbre of uneasiness. He seemed almost surprised by Will’s presence, and distracted. Will cleared his throat, feeling awkward. “Did you receive the radiogram?” Jimmy nodded his head vigorously. “Yes, yes of course.”

 

Will remembered Jimmy as a neat and fastidious man. Yet, his room almost resembled Miriam’s. There were trodden papers all over the floor, the lampshade was askew, and the bed was not made. There were strange items around - ripped clothing, jars and bottles with labels ripped off. Jimmy noticed that Will noticed, and stood ramrod straight and folded his arms behind his back. He was wearing a frayed sweater with a fairly large tear on its left sleeve. Will also noticed that Jimmy’s left hand was bandaged.

 

“Is everything okay?” “... No?” Jimmy offered truthfully. “What’s happening,” Will demanded. Jimmy threw up his hands and looked very exasperated with himself. “I mean, where do I begin, we have no idea h-” The hammock moved, and Jimmy looked like he just shat himself. “What was that?” “... Maybe it’s best if you waited to find out, yourself.” Will raised an eyebrow. Jimmy almost looked apologetic, but more agitated than anything else. “You’ll see.”

 

“Where’s everyone else? Beverly? Zeller?”

 

It looked as if Jimmy remembered something all of a sudden. And it wasn’t something good.

 

“Jimmy?”

 

The gloom on his face cast deeper shadows along the lines of his face. Will could feel Jimmy’s ill apprehension chill and curdle in his own stomach

 

“Brian is in the laboratory,” Jimmy managed.

 

“And Beverly?”

 

Jimmy couldn’t look Will in the eye.

 

“Bev’s dead.”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

Will clenched his fists. The fabric of his gloves pulled uncomfortably against his joints.

 

“Beverly’s dead, Will.”

 

He couldn’t quite register the fact. The denial hit him first, disbelieving and full of bitter, undirected rancor. “Beverly? How?” Then he felt something snap within him, and like freezing air that filtered too quickly through his lungs, he felt the painfully chilling sensation of grief fill his chest. “Watch this. She left it for you. She’ll explain.”

 

He took the video from Jimmy’s hand. He noticed that his hands were shaking. “Why don’t you go rest, take a nice long bath?” Jimmy advised with a thin, difficult smile. “Take any room you like and come back in an hour.”

 

Will nodded. “I’d like to see Zeller, too.”

 

Jimmy shook his head. “Later. I doubt he’d see you now,” he chuckled mirthlessly. “He’s upstairs, in the laboratory.” Will nodded and took his leave.

 

When he was a couple steps out the door, he heard Jimmy call out his name. “Yes?” Jimmy stepped out of the door and shut it behind him. He looked around warily, then turned back to Will. “Listen, Will, there are only three of us here. You, me, and Brian. If you see something weird, something besides me and Brian,” he gave Will a serious look. “Try not to lose your mind.”

 

Will’s scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion. “What would I see?”

 

“I don’t know. That sorta depends on you.”

 

For an instant, Will felt the Stag’s hot breath whisper down his neck. “Hallucinations?”

 

“No,” Jimmy shook his head again. “Just remember,” he reminded as he walked back towards his room.

 

“Remember what?”

 

“That we’re not on Earth.” The door closed behind Jimmy Price.

 

\----

 

The room was close to Jimmy’s. It was sparsely furnished in white furniture, and its curved walls were cushioned with white pads. There was a round window that overlooked Solaris. Will leaned against the window, looking at the shifting waters beneath them. His fingers were still touching the video, which he had laid on the desk. The turbid emotions made his mind heavy.

 

He missed his dogs. He was left here to bear the unwieldy emptiness of mourning alone, without a cluster of warm fur and wet noses to try and fill up all that empty space inside his heart. Now, he was all alone.

 

With a groaning sigh, Will grabbed the video and walked to the television. He watched the reader slot slowly absorb the video, and waited for Beverly.

 

“Hey Will,” Beverly waved at him. “If you’re watching this, the good news is that you’re here on Solaris and can maybe figure this out. The bad news is that I’m dead.” The smile on her face faltered a bit. “On second thought, maybe the fact that you’re here isn’t really good news as well.” Beverly shrugged. “Well. You’d better watch out,” she warned, “It’s coming for you, too.” She winked and Will let out a weak laugh. “So you really, really wanna know what happened to Beverly Katz?” Will nodded.

 

“Hey Kev, c’mere.” A young boy, around 15 years old, wandered into the screen. He held a glass of milk in his hand, and looked remarkably like Beverly. “This is my youngest brother, Kevin,” Beverly explained, “Kev, I’m talking to my, like, best friend, Will Graham. Say hi to Will. He’s cool, I swear.” “Hi,” he obeys curtly. Will subconsciously raised a hand in greeting. “Now run along.” She shooed him out of the frame.

 

Beverly pointed towards the direction Kevin left in. “You saw him, right? I’m not crazy?” “Yes you are,” Kevin replied off-camera. Beverly shook her head. “Younger siblings, am I right?” Will laughed along with her. She cleared her throat. “Well. Here on Solaris, there's this thing ... see, everyone has been receiving … _visitors_. Visitors that are not supposed to be here. Jimmy’s seeing that twin brother he hates so much, and Brian …” She sputtered with a stifled guffaw. “Poor bastard is seeing _Jack Crawford_ , out of everyone.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “If he’s not seeing anyone, that’s because he’s depressed from being holed up in the same room as _Jack_ for the foreseeable future.”

 

“Now I know whose room to avoid,” Will noted to himself. “Anyway,” Beverly started, “Whenever you start seeing people - and you will - don’t freak. You’re not going crazy, I swear … well, I hope you saw Kevin, and we’re not all collectively hallucinating here on the space station and I just gestured at nothing in particular for no reason at all. If that’s the case, then you’re probably going crazy. If it’s any comfort, at least we’re all about the same level of crazy. Anyway. That was what I was trying to talk about when I sent you the last panicky video at, like, 4 AM.” She hooked a lock of hair behind her left ear and stopped for a moment, her expression contemplative, and then dropped her voice down to a whisper. “There’s something I need to tell you, but maybe it’s best I talk about this to you, alone.” She turned her head back, towards Kevin. “Hey Kev, I’m going to go take a shit, I’ll be right back okay.” The boy muttered something back in return. The screen went black.

 

When it lit up again, Beverly was crouching, cramped, in what clearly looked like the bathroom. “Sorry. So, Brian had this idea to stimulate the Solarian ocean somehow,” she began again, “Like, the … visitors … only started appearing after we probed the ocean experimentally. Brian was curious what would happen if we blast the ocean with radiation to get it to react to us, somehow. And maybe get rid of the visitors. Listen, I know it sounds crazy, but don’t blame Brian; after all, he’s stuck with _Jack_.” She shifted her position on the toilet seat. “But I don’t want to hurt these visitors. I mean, they’re clearly not human,” she observed, “I mean, it looks and talks and walks like Kevin, but I know it’s not Kevin, because there’s no way my teenage brother can randomly appear on this weird planet all of a sudden. Also, there’s something wonky with his memory … it’s not him.” She shook her head firmly. “But, to me, he’s no different than the _real_ Kevin. Also, even if he isn’t human, Kevin is definitely something.” She swallows. “I know that he feels, he thinks … and he’s only becoming more human, the longer he’s around me. Above everything else … I love him like I love my brother. I can’t do this to him. I can’t do this to anyone. I tried to talk to Brian and Jimmy, but I don’t think they understand.” She looked Will in the eye. “I know you will. Promise me you’ll try your best to understand this and figure it out.” There was an anxious apologeticness around her.

 

She laughed a little dejectedly. “As for me, you know that I’m never someone to sit on my own ass. This is probably a suicide mission, but I’m going down into that ocean. We haven’t been able to successfully _go down and investigate_ because everyone’s been distracted by these visitors. So that’s what I’m going to do.” She clenched her fist in a confident gesture. “I’m going to Lewis and Clark this shit!”

 

“So, this is goodbye. If I’m not back by the time these videos are scheduled to reach you all, that means I’m probably dead, or as good. I’m probably really, really stupid, doing this, but someone has to. I’m not going to potentially destroy Solaris without attempting to find out how it works. Unfortunately, none of the astronomers and physicists were _around_ to help me - they, for the most part, were busying getting rid of their visitors, or dying trying. And since I’m an investigator, I’m doing what I do best - investigating.”

 

She saluted to Will. “So, so long, buddy. Will, know that this isn’t madness. It has something to do with conscience. And when you do get here, finally, do me a favour and see what you can do about Solaris, alright? I think you’re more capable than the rest of us in understanding whatever the hell is happening.”

 

Her face was smiling, but her eyes were sad. Will felt a grasping feeling at his chest, but the seeking hand found nothing, except for a cold emptiness that slid through its fingers. “Goodbye, Will. I will miss you. Thanks for all the good times. Know that your girl, Beverly Katz, went down swingin’. Oh, and when you go back, make sure to tell them to put “Explorer of the Final Frontier” on my gravestone as one of my many accomplishments. If they don’t, I’ll haunt the fuck out of your sorry ass.” When she grinned at him the last time, he couldn’t help but smile back weakly. “Farewell, Will Graham, you huge fucking dork.” The video ended.

 

\----

 

With a soft hiss, the bathroom door slid open, and Will trod into his room, the water vapour clouding behind him like the suffocating thoughts he left in the shower. It felt good to be free from the weighty and constricting spacesuit; his arms ached as he lifted the metal-collared top over his head, and he had to practically peel the pants off his legs.  Now more comfortably garbed in his old boxers and holey t-shirt, the air was cold and refreshing against his skin.

 

Will was heavy with fatigue. It felt as if his limbs dragged behind him, lagging behind the commands of his brain. Yet, cautious of the strange happenings on the space station, Will walked to the closet and found two large, heavy trunks. He assumed that they contained the personal effects of the last person who inhabited this room, and tried not to think about what happened to them. With some difficulty, on account of his slow limbs, he barricaded the sheet metal door with the trunks, stacking them on top of one another.

 

Exhausted, he stumbled to the plastic-covered bed. He fell onto the bed, its sterile plastic cover squeaking against the friction of his body. He didn’t bother removing the uncomfortable plastic; after all that had transpired, he just really wanted to fucking sleep. Grabbing Miriam’s gun from the overhead shelf where he had left it, Will placed it under his pillow for good measure.

 

Sleep came to him quickly, bleeding into his consciousness. Gratefully, Will gave into its invasion, plunging himself into merciful unconsciousness.

 

\----

 

The amber-gold afternoon sunlight cast those thin but expressive lips in a becoming shadow. They were gently pressed together in a charming smile. Will’s eyes trailed upwards, and found those dark eyes looking at him fondly, almost reverently, from beneath shadowy brows.

 

He was sitting by the window, body relaxed against the armchair. He was clothed in a dark jacket over a soft grey sweater, and dark slacks. Will noticed that he was barefoot. He gazed at Will for what seemed like an eternity. Will felt an insufficient greeting stifle and choke in his throat as he stared back; he momentarily forgot even to breathe.

 

It was almost surprisingly sudden, as well as long expected, when he pushed himself out of the chair. His tall and svelte body moved gracefully as he padded to Will’s bedside. He sat down, the plastic covering groaning to acknowledge his presence. Will felt his weight sink into the mattress.

 

Warm fingers combed through Will’s drying curls. As he bent over Will, Will put a hand to his face, thumb stroking thoughtfully, and pressed those smiling lips to his own.

 

The hand in Will’s hair stilled. Will felt that mouth press against his with conserving gentleness, as if wanting to slowly savour the moment, to preserve it in the dripping, dusky afternoon glow, almost afraid of being suddenly deprived of it all; almost afraid of being suddenly deprived of Will.

 

Yet Will responded hungrily, lifting his head from the pillow to better press his lips mercilessly against the other’s, until those lips parted slightly, and Will dared to nudge the tip of his tongue briefly against the space. That mouth softly opened wider, and Will felt their tongues press against one another. While the other man remained gentle and patient with his kisses, Will kissed bruisingly, wanting to push all three years of that unwanted longing, bone-crushing love, and crippling grief into him. He wanted him to feel the burden he carried with him, to taste it against his tongue, to let it engulf, swallow, and drown him as it did Will.

 

Will’s lungs ached for want of air, and he was forced to let his kisses abate, desperately inflicting several frantic kisses before he let it completely die away, and let his head fall back onto the pillow.

 

Those warm eyes locked with his, teeming with sad adoration and agonizing worship. Will found that he was still unable to breathe. His fingers brushed against that greying honey-brown hair as he tucked a stray strand behind an ear. Finally exhaling shakily, Will felt more broken than ever, teetering on the edge of harrowing wholeness and shattering confusion. He felt the incomprehensible urge to laugh, relieved, and cry, overwhelmed, at the same time.

 

Instead, he whispered a name.

 

“Hannibal.”

 

“Hello, Will.”


	3. Chapter 3

Hannibal lay down, next to Will, balancing on the edge of the bed. Will laid his hand on top of Hannibal’s, bewildered eyes wide. The hand beneath his pulsed with a familiar warmth. His eyes darted all over Hannibal’s face, registering all the little details - the smiling wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the slight rightward bend of the bridge of his nose, the faint, fair hair on his brows, the thin lips, curled like a hunter’s bow, and those dark eyes, flecked with maroon. It was Hannibal, alright. It was his Hannibal.

 

Will found himself at a loss for reason. “Where did you …?” He failed to finish his question. Hannibal smiled as he lifted his hand from beneath Will’s enough to intertwine their fingers together. “It’s very nice here,” he commented, voice temperate and oaky. The way he formed those familiar vowels and consonants had Will dazed, and he swallowed uncertainly. “But … but it’s not …” He’s on a planet, across galaxies, across _worlds_ , and Hannibal was here. _By some strange stroke of miracle_ , Will thought as he pressed his palm against Hannibal’s, _by some miracle he was here, by_ my _side_. “How did you know where I?” Will found himself unable to compose by the rules of grammar.

 

Hannibal chuckled at him, a rich laugh that palpitated soothingly in his chest. “What do you mean by ‘how?’”

 

Cold water dripped down his back when Will remembered what Jimmy had told him. _Remember that we’re not on Earth_.

 

Will felt the rigidity of Miriam’s gun press into his head from the pillow. He thought about reaching for it, but didn’t want to let go of Hannibal’s hand. He closed his eyes, closing off his mind to Hannibal as he contemplated the situation. _Is this what Jimmy and Beverly were telling him about? Is Hannibal one of these … visitors? Was he an apparition, or was he … no, he’s definitely_ there. _But who was he? Was he even … Hannibal?_

 

“Will, is anything the matter? Open your eyes, Will. You’re worrying me.” Will managed to wrest his eyes open. Hannibal gently untangled his fingers, moving his hand to brush Will’s hair, unruly from sleep, from his eyes. “Good,” he smiled at Will, then sat up.

 

He slid off the bed, bare feet landing softly on the plasticky white floor. Hannibal wandered around the bed, as if looking for something. “Where are my shoes?”

 

“Shoes?” Will pushed himself up from the bed. He watched Hannibal shrug off the jacket and casually drape it over one of the armchairs as he approached Will’s backpack, next to the closet. He hadn’t even unpacked yet. Hannibal bent down to open it, his back bowing in a graceful curve. “No, they’re not here,” Hannibal gave up with a sigh.

 

“What’s this?” Hannibal’s voice lifted with a curious tone. He held up a small, leather book. “Poems,” Will answered, his throat dry. Hannibal thumbed through the volume, and Will found himself admiring how those pages fit in so well with those hands. Flimsy, almost-translucent leaves bent and fluttered compliantly as Hannibal’s thumb purred over them, the slight pressure causing them to come undone, then fit together again, collecting in Hannibal’s left hand. “Dylan Thomas.” There was a glimmer of approval in his voice.

 

Will heard the soft whispers of the pages stop. He must’ve found it. “And death shall have no dominion …” words tumbled out of Hannibal liltingly, and Will found himself elsewhere. In his old house in Wolf Trap, with fire licking in the fireplace, casting flickering shadows in the room. Hannibal had wrapped him up in musty flannel shirts that hung about him loosely; they were his father’s. The gauze on his forehead was stuck to the wound with dried blood. He felt a warm presence next to him, and look to see Hannibal next to him, curled together on the bed, snug under the blanket. Hannibal was reading from the book. “Though they be mad and dead as nails, heads of the characters hammer through daisies …”

 

“... Break in the sun till the sun breaks down, and death shall have no dominion.” Hannibal plucked out the photograph that was wedged between the pages. “Who is he?” Hannibal asked, voice soft. Will drew his brows together, confused, but more than that, suspicious. _Didn’t he know?_ He couldn’t bring himself to look at Hannibal, scared to find someone else there, instead of him. Someone remarkably similar, but not the same.

 

Through the corner of the eye, he saw Hannibal approach the mirror hanging in the closet. Hannibal looked at the photograph, then looked at the mirror, and repeated this action several times. “Will … it’s me.”

 

_I should see Jimmy about this_ , Will thought to himself, and stood up from the bed. He decided not to take the gun, and set it upon the shelf above the headboard. He knew Hannibal was walking to him, gripping the photograph in his hand. He felt aching confusion radiating from Hannibal, a nervous, sweat-inducing heat wafting from his head. “Will … I’m afraid … I have the feeling that … I’ve forgotten something.” He managed. He set the photograph on the desk.

 

It was a photograph they found in Hannibal’s home, after he killed one person, and almost killed three others on that rainy night, long ago. Hannibal was smiling fondly at the camera, relaxed in his favourite armchair. He wore a soft, trim grey turtleneck sweater, and a fitted dark jacket over it. Will couldn’t see his feet. He reasoned that Abigail took the photo. They found it in her room, amongst other photographs she had in a packet - photographs of their life together. Some of them had Will in it, sleeping uncomfortably in an airplane seat. But Will liked this one best.

 

So he pocketed it when no one was looking. He figured no one would miss it.

 

Except Will found himself missing the man in it. He missed him worse when he thought about never being able to see him again. To touch him again. To talk to him again. So he thought about the photograph infrequently, and as with other things pertaining to Hannibal, he put it under lock and key, away in some dark corner of his mind’s lonely corridors.

 

Yet here he was, in the flesh, or near enough. Will noticed that he looked exactly as he did in the photograph. The same outfit, and the lack of later-acquired scars on his face.

 

“I cannot understand it,” Hannibal confessed. Still clutching the photograph. Will definitely should go see Jimmy Price. “I’m going out for a moment, okay?” He was thinking how he could possibly phrase the situation. “Wait for me, okay?” He shifted off the bed stiffly, fumbling with his still-exhausted body.

 

“I’ll go with you.” It came out a little too quickly, a little too desperately. Hannibal seemed surprised with himself, unsure. With something. He looked at his bare feet.

 

“Hannibal.”

 

Hannibal looked up at him. “Will. Do you love me?”

 

Will felt something seize up inside him and ice trickle down his ribs. He lifted the corners of his mouth. “Don’t be absurd, Hannibal.” He tried to look Hannibal in the eyes but couldn’t, so he turned away, towards the door, instead. “As if you didn’t know,” he said to himself, quietly, under his breath.

 

He put his hand on the handle. “I’m going out for a moment. Wait for me, alright?”

 

“No.”

 

Will found himself shocked by Hannibal’s explicit refusal, despite his familiarity with Hannibal’s particular streak of stubbornness. He looks over his shoulder at Hannibal, whose eyes were fixed on Will’s hand, curled around the door handle.

 

“I’ll go with you,” Hannibal offered. “No,” Will looked at him sternly. He wasn’t sure how well Jimmy would take a recently reanimated Hannibal Lecter. Will shook his head resolutely. “No, Hannibal. I’ll be back soon.”

 

“No.”

 

Will’s fingers tightened around the handle. “Hannibal, what is wrong with you? Why?”

 

Hannibal looked at him helplessly, in a way that he not familiar with. In a way that looks … lost. Will realises that Hannibal was never … lost, before. He was always exactly where he wanted to be. Now it looked like he’s not sure if he should even be here.

 

“I don’t know,” Hannibal admitted. “I can’t.”

 

“You can’t what?”

 

“I have to see you … all the time.”

 

Will looked at him, vaguely aware that his mouth was open in probably an expression of protest.

 

“I know. I’m being ridiculous.”

 

A terrible idea bloomed inside Will’s mind. It hurt him to consider it, but he had no choice. This wasn’t supposed to be happening

 

“You … can come with me. If you want.” He offered. He hated how he was unable to mask the shakiness in his voice. He hated how he was never able to mask anything in front of Hannibal.

 

Hannibal didn’t seem to notice. He was smiling, pleased, contained, but Will could tell from his eyes that he was rather surprised.

 

It felt like knives twisting into Will’s gut. He felt his insides lurch with every step he took. “We’re going to need to wear these,” he explained carefully, keeping his voice as steady as he could, as he slid open the door of the walk-in closet. Nestled against the wall were two space suits. He looked towards Hannibal, but not at him. “You’re going to need to take off your clothes.” He felt his own t-shirt stick to his back as nervous perspiration oozed slowly from his pores. He peeled it over his head.

 

There was the sound of Hannibal pulling at his sweater. “Will, help me. It won’t come off.” Will had already stepped into the legs of his suit. Its heavy metal collar struck against the back of Will’s knees uncomfortably as he walked towards Hannibal.

 

The fabric of Hannibal’s sweater was soft, but much less flexible than Will had imagined it would be. It was almost as if it were crafted from an incomplete impression of a sweater. “Hold on,” he told Hannibal as he reached for the small toolkit his room’s previous occupant had kept in the drawer of the bedside table. Will unzipped the thing and picked up a pair of scissors.

 

He cut the sweater off Hannibal’s back. The fabric tugged at the scissors, leaving a jagged edge to the cut of Will’s scissors. Will pushed the sweater off Hannibal’s back. It gathered at Hannibal’s front, and Hannibal simply pulled the ruined garment off his arms

 

Will realised that his hands were still touching Hannibal’s back. It was smooth and unmarked - and he had definitely remembered seeing at least an odd mole or two back at Mason Verger’s estate. But Hannibal’s back was now unmarked, smooth and tan as an eggshell.

 

“Will, are you alright?”

 

His hands shrank from Hannibal’s perfect back. “Yeah, I’m okay. Come on, let’s go.”

 

\----

 

The almond-shaped, silver vehicle rose out of the floor, smoke billowing out of the hole it emerged from. Will touched its brushed steel exterior, expecting it to be cold, but it was warm instead. “Get in,” he managed to eject from his throat.

 

Hannibal’s hand closed around the latch and opened the door. “What about you?”

 

“I’m right behind you,” Will said. He looked at Hannibal and hoped that his eyes wouldn’t betray anything. “I have to shut the hatch,” he explained. He closed the door. His fingers ghosted over its frame, to make sure it was snugly shut. “Are you comfortable?” He asked the window. Hannibal’s face looked at him on the other side of the glass. “Yes. Hurry, Will.”

 

Will backed away from the vessel. He kept backing away, even though he could hear Hannibal calling his name. Even though he could hear “Hannibal” calling his name, he couldn’t go to him. Will felt his back hit the tiled wall. His left hand reached out and met the switch. “Hannibal” was frantically yelling his name. It made Will’s forehead drip with sweat and his chest ice over at his own treachery.

 

He couldn’t look at him. So, Will closed his eyes. And flipped the switch.

 

The station violently ejected the small ship into space. Will was too busy staring at the twinkling darkness to notice the flames from lift off licking up his leg. Only when he couldn’t see him anymore did he drop onto the floor and roll the flames off himself.

 

It was a little too late. His leg stung from a mild burn. Will thought he deserved it.

 

\----

 

He opened Jimmy’s door. Jimmy was reading a book and wearing his glasses, but he had heard voices. “You could at least knock,” Jimmy said to him. “It sounded like you were talking to someone,” Will defended himself weakly. “All the more reason.”

 

Jimmy took off his glasses and laid them upon his open book. “So you had guests?” His eyes then shot to the burnt patch on Will’s space suit. “Well, I see you took good care of them,” he said dryly.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Yes. You won’t die from that.”

 

There was an unfamiliar, cruel glint in Jimmy’s black eyes. “Did you at least start out modestly?” He asked, but it sounded more like a jab. “Narcotics, poisons, barbiturates, eh? Don’t tell me you haven’t tried a rope or a hammer. Did you happen to throw a paperweight at it? Like Brian? No?” Will felt empty. Too empty to even feel guilty anymore. “So, one, two, and into the rocket, and that was that. Next time, push the button from the corridor. You won’t get burned then.”

 

“What was that?” Will asked hollowly.

 

“I don’t know,” Jimmy answered, but it sounded like “you tell me.”

 

Will leaned tiredly against the door frame. “Who was it?” Jimmy asked him. Will could see his small eyes widen and his irises become less black when Will said that it was Hannibal. “But he’s been dead for three years,” Will said to himself.

 

“What you saw was the materialization of your conception of him.”

 

“Has this been happening since the beginning.”

 

Jimmy gave a pout and a shrug that Will read as “no.” “Well, it all started when we began experimenting with radiation,” Jimmy explained, “We hit the Solarian ocean with strong X-ray beams and other things.” He shrugged again. “Evidently the ocean responded to our heavy radiation with something else. It probed into our minds and extracted … something like islands of memory.”

 

“Will he come back.”

 

“Yes … always.”

 

“And endless number of Hannibals.”

 

Jimmy was silent. “Why didn’t you warn me?” Will demanded. “You wouldn’t have believed me,” Jimmy said simply.

 

Will turned around and left.

 

\----

 

“Will, where are you?”

 

“I’m here.”

 

“It’s very dark in here.”

 

“I’m here.”

 

He felt Hannibal climb into his bed.

 

\----

 

Will was vaguely aware that he was awake again, and sweaty. His mind was rapidly trying to backtrack and figure out his last nightmare, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Do you still call it a nightmare even if day and night don’t exist for you anymore?

 

His attention was suddenly drawn southward. He felt a wetness that made him arch his back and groan. _Fuck_.

 

“Hannibal, Hannibal _please_ -” He could hear his own voice skidding across the still silence of his room.

 

Hannibal’s tongue was languorous and reverent, just as Will had remembered it. Everything he did was so strangely sincere and decadent that it made Will’s toes curl in more guilt than pleasure.

 

Will’s hands scrabbled to grab at the bedsheets, but they were folded too snugly around the mattress. “Hannibal, I -”

 

Hannibal’s warm, worn hand pressed against Will’s thigh reassuringly and Will let go with a sigh. He always did, even though he knew that Hannibal’s reassurance meant nothing.

 

He’d made the mistake of trusting it before.

  
Will Graham closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, guys!


End file.
